


composition

by reaperangelique



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: F/M, Musical Instruments, Oral Sex, Piano Sex, Romance, Vanilla, okay then, piano sex is a tag
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-30
Updated: 2015-03-30
Packaged: 2018-03-20 09:59:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,278
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3646035
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/reaperangelique/pseuds/reaperangelique
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>prussia interrupts austria's attempts to write music, because he has about as much ability to stay away from her as he has to play rachmaninoff.</p>
            </blockquote>





	composition

**Author's Note:**

> originally posted on dreamwidth in 2013. just a strange but true romance in a world where austria is even prettier than usual.

Outside, on the terrace, the breeze shaking the autumn foliage carried wisps of music, free for the listening for any passers-by; tinkling, lighthearted music box melodies, simple chord progressions and sudden, unbalanced strains in minor key. The overall effect was fractured and indistinct, but the sound was as clear and crisp as though each note was laid down by a masterful hand, snatches of different works from the same auteur. Which was not entirely far from the truth.

Inside, the ethereal quality of the music was spoiled somewhat by the mutterings of the pianist, and the scratch of pen against manuscript paper as she hesitantly captured the notes spilling from her fingers. To describe her as gifted was a laughable understatement, but the fact remained that her usual preference was to play the works of others, rather than write her own. She punctuated a flighty, playful trill with the sound of paper being scrunched into a tiny ball and thrown across the room.

Outside, in the garden, where no passers-by should have _been_ on pain of scolding, a malingerer with a cigarette leaned against the wall, imagining each song a dedication to him from an adoring admirer. Which was absolute fiction, but it made him grin.

He put out his cigarette on the patio (a hanging offence), blowing smoke downwind of his _admirer's_ delicate olfactory senses and whistling softly before slinking around the side of the house.

Austria caught the faintest scent of smoke, and a sound she did not make, and her eyes narrowed, flickering to the door. She had left it ajar, and now, sure enough, her ears pricked up at the sound of heavy boots on her floors. How he had entered the house, she did not know, but it was hardly surprising. (She always did forget about the key she left in a flowerpot outside.)

Resolving to ignore her uninvited guest, she returned to the keys, but already he was bothering her, distracting her from her work, and without realising it she had abandoned the attempt at original music, Debussy taking over now. Still, this she could play without pause, drowning out the sound of footsteps and the creak of the door as Prussia waltzed in.

Not literally, that would perhaps have been preferable.

He hung on the door handle, making the door sway as he fixated on Austria, his broad grin almost audible. She was quite deliberately not looking at him, but that was fine. In fact he liked to see how long she could last without giving in and snapping at him.

"If you have come to entertain yourself at my expense, I must ask you to wait in the foyer until I have a moment to spare," Austria said suddenly, not looking up from the piano, nor slowing in her smooth rendition of the Valse Romantique. "And take your shoes off, you barbarian."

He was so surprised he was reaching for one boot before he caught himself. "You have yours o...n. What the hell are those?"

Her feet twitched, one pressing a pedal down. Now she looked at him, daring him to comment further on her...feathery footwear.

"Slippers."

"Looks like you strapped a pair of pigeons to your feet."

"Are you leaving?"

With a theatrical sigh and a roll of his eyes that defied biology, Prussia shoved his hands in his pockets, striding towards the piano. In place of a grin was a scowl, an affected one perhaps, but he was disappointed nonetheless. She was busy- not just 'busy' eating or sleeping or something else he could interrupt, but this was obviously _important,_ her precious instrument ranking high above him on the food chain. He sometimes wondered what it was like to have a singular passion, something you could push yourself to master, never tiring of it.

He never tired of her. She and her pursed lips, her stern glare, that expression that marked him out as an offense to her very existence. The way she fairly leapt from the bench and moved to meet him before he could reach her piano, the sheer presence of her petite frame- straight-backed, chin held high so as to look down on everyone she met. He almost winced at the distrust, but he laughed, his eyes frantically sweeping every inch of her before holding her impossibly blue gaze.

Black skirt. Black stockings. Black blouse. Not an inch of bare skin below the neck, and hips that went on, and on... The whole resembled an obscene silhouette, a nude figure merely shadow-playing behind a curtain.

"Gilbert," Austria began. Prussia caught himself staring, forced his eyes back up. That had almost taken a turn for the embarrassing. He made an attempt at recovery.

"You jumped in front of it like I was gonna give it a disease! Tch, getting cabin fever holed up in here all alone? Started talking to it yet?" It was not a very good attempt. And yet, he never could stop speaking at the most opportune time. "And you look like you're going to a damn funeral- what're you writing, a requiem?"

It was probably for the best that Austria utterly ignored every word. "I see you came for _that_ purpose, after all. Well, I have no time for that, either. I have a performance this weekend, I gave my word that I would produce a composition. So go away, you distract me."

The attempt was swiftly abandoned in favour of plan B- that is, whining.

"You can't even take a break?! Oi- what happened to hospitality? I haven't seen your face in a week-" -or the rest of her, for that matter- "-I was starting to forget what it looks like!"

In a hundred years, two hundred, five hundred, he couldn't do it. Since they were little more than children he'd looked hungrily at the rosy skin, the shining curls, the ashen lashes framing scornful eyes. Dark and fair and symmetrical, haughty, infuriating. A sleeping beauty while he crept up on her and revelled in grinding her defenses under his boot. (Prussia had never claimed to be subtle.)

They were old now, and that sort of sadomasochism was no longer recommended for catching a lady's attention. _Well-_

He found himself floundering with his mind racing ahead again, and he did some mental backtracking. _"What_ purpose?"

"You know perfectly well," Austria replied, and this time she tossed her beautiful hair, looking off into the distance as her cheeks coloured.

Oh, that purpose.

"I didn't come to fuck."

"You-" There was a moment where she struggled for control of her speech, his language turning her scarlet. "-are a despicable liar."

"...I didn't _only_ come to fuck."

Now she was brandishing a piece of paper at him, appalled. "How am I supposed to produce anything when you come swaggering in here saying- and wanting to- such coarseness has no place before works of art."

Prussia had to laugh at her earnestness. She was _passionate,_ whatever the disaffected expression said.

He knew a thing or two about her passions.

He took a step towards her, eyeing her, and then the piano. His smile was the sort of smile she loathed, promising something...vulgar.

"You talk like all your precious artists weren't fuckin' around with their muses. Or each other," he added, magnanimously. He was close enough to touch her now, but he didn't, stretching his arms out either side of her instead and resting them on the piano's lid. "Where d'you think that kinda inspiration comes from?"

At this distance, Austria's face was _perfect,_ but her expression would have made a lesser man shrivel where he stood. As for Prussia, it...nothing was shrivelling. Quite the opposite.

"I suppose you are going to _educate_ me on the subject."

Even the intonations of her voice, drenched in disdain, made him shift from foot to foot. He was glad he'd decided against the very skinniest of his jeans that morning.

"Didn't think you'd need it..." He leaned in, and paused scant inches from her lips, gauging her tolerance for him. She was difficult to read. The fact that he had been allowed to get this close without her hand setting his skull ringing was a good sign. "But I can help you out...?"

She was silent for a long moment, looking him up and down. He felt himself begin to sweat, still in his coat. But he could have sworn there was a waver in her expression, a subtle shift towards _amused_ rather than _murderous._ ...He hoped he wasn't seeing things.

Finally, when his knees had begun to stiffen, she spoke, and it sounded like silk. "How generous. And here was I, trying to achieve it alone."

The mental image- possibly not the one intended- made him ache, and he buried his grinning face against her neck, his hands finally sinking to her hips, fingers tightening to feel the satisfying _squish_ of them. She made a little noise in response, not quite a sigh, but a mildly resigned sort of sound, as though she'd been interrupted by a minor nuisance.

"Debussy did have several affairs..."

Prussia's fingers plucked at the hem of her sensible skirt now, pulling it above her knees, but no further; his lips brushed the shell of her ear, his eyes sliding sideways to watch her face. She was as blank as ever, regarding the paper in her hand rather than him. Unbelievable.

"Musicians," he muttered, before his teeth closed on her earlobe. There was only so much feigned disinterest he could take, and he aimed to make her forget her composition altogether, to focus only on him, to _relax-_

"Whatever his methods, his use of dissonance was remarkable..." Now she was actually reaching for a pen-

"Unbelievable!" The paper slipped from her hand and fluttered to the floor, followed by one of her fluffy slippers; Prussia had grasped her by her generous posterior, bodily lifting her from the floor to hold her against himself, her weight nothing to him. His expression had twisted itself into a scowl, but there was some underlying mirth, some disbelieving laughter at her politely surprised expression. "You want it or not? Jesus. You don't give an inch."

And all at once, her expression softened, her smile tearing into him until he thought he might drop her. The rarity of it, the intimacy of her happiness. He'd forgotten how unfairly she could fight.

Austria's hands- soft hands, long fingers, made to touch finer things- caressed his face, and her legs curled tightly around his waist, the pressure against his growing erection making him twitch. She laughed at him, the expression on his face must have been a sight.

"Don't be upset with me," she said, and she kissed him, and it was worrying to him how quickly he forgave her. But then, he was a man, after all, or so he told himself, as he pushed her back against the piano lid, shielding her from the hard edges with his arms.

It was hard to get anyone's clothes off, or to get his hands under her skirt, but he made a valiant attempt, squeezing whatever his fingers fell upon until she broke away from his mouth to gasp.

"We should go to bed- "

He kissed her to shut her up, and while she was distracted, he lifted her higher, laying her on the piano lid before she could protest.

"Gilbert- ! Not here- you can't be serious- "

"Haven't you ever wanted to try it?" Prussia's lips were curling into a smile again, eager as he watched her struggle to sit up, her skirt pushed so far up her thighs he could see the tops of her stockings and the pale skin above- he threw his coat to the ground, rapidly making his way through the buttons of his shirt now. If he let Austria do it, she'd take all day.

Austria did not seem to realise that, as she finally sat up, her skirt was stretched to immodesty over her parted thighs, perhaps because she was preoccupied with trying to form a response. One that didn't give away her previous encounters on the parlour grand, preferably.

"It won't be comfortable at all- "

Of course she's already done it, he thought, as his shirt sailed across the room, hanging itself neatly from a double bass. He gave her a moment to appreciate the sight, flexing very nearly imperceptibly until she looked away with a blush. She was unbelievable, and he could no longer keep away, reaching up to brush her hair from her face and tilt it back towards him. Now her lips pursed in embarrassment, and disapproval, the red flush to them making Prussia run his tongue over his own.

"Too much for you?"

"Shut up."

He complied, pushing her skirt further up to her hips, eyes flickering between her face and the softness of her legs. He admired the way her stockings' subtle lace trim pressed into her flesh, and what he could see of dark and frilly underwear; but more important were her expressions, contempt giving way to half-closed eyes and bitten lips, yielding to him as he touched her. Her fingers wound into his hair as his found the fastenings of her skirt, and slowly, with a growing smile and shifting legs, she let it fall.

Her blouse, Prussia noticed, now that he was close, was such fine material that it skirted the edge of transparency; he reached up, curious, and began to unbutton it. She watched impassively, but her feet were gently rubbing the bare skin of his sides, pushing under the fabric of his jeans to reach his hips. It tickled.

"The windows are open," Austria murmured. She let it sink in as he glanced over her shoulder, slipping her blouse from her arms. The breeze was low, the afternoon light glinting off coppery leaves; no one was around. "If you disturb the neighbours..."

"Can't hear through earplugs," Prussia replied, the mocking note of his voice subdued now as he let his hands slide down her chest and stomach, feeling the silk of her bustier, his eyes fixed on it. Unfair. "They've had 'em in all day to block out your racket."

When she made no more reply than a snort, he looked up to see her sliding pins out of her hair, letting braids fall undone and soft curls frame her face. The pins clattered to the floor around his feet as he pulled her down to him, closing his eyes, kissing her with his hands wound in her hair. Unfair, unfair. Worse still when she unfastened the bodice herself, all the way down until it sprang apart and fell from her. Prussia found his hands suddenly in her grip, guided to the swell of her breasts, molded to cover them as if they were made for his hands. Or rather, as if his hands were made for her.

He was familiar with this. This was the part where her redness subsided and became a flush of interest, as she voicelessly told him what to do, where to touch. Her feet were moving again, stroking against his sides, kneading the muscle at the base of his back; he needed little encouragement to obey. There was something inexplicably fascinating about any woman's breasts, but particularly, at this moment, hers. Soft, as soft as any other part of her, with an underlying elasticity that made it satisfying to press his fingers into them, gently disturbing their shape before letting them _bounce_ back to perfection. He knew without looking the expression she wore, as mesmerised by his rapt attention as he was by her...everything.

Austria reduced him to silence at times, and it felt strange, his tongue moving in his mouth as if it didn't know where it was. He didn't dare meet her eyes, suddenly, so down was the only way to go, occupying his mouth with something other than words, fingers and tongue moving over her breasts, curling around her nipples. Rosy like her lips, her cheeks, her- lots of parts of her, depending. A perfect treat to wrap his lips around, he might have quipped, if even he didn't feel shame sometimes.

Austria's fingers were stroking Prussia's hair now, soothing, and her own hung down in dark cascades as she watched him. She enjoyed watching his mouth work, seeing his tongue flicker out now and then, oddly like a cat's. There was a simple pleasure in his _silence._ In knowing that for her, he would put aside his taunts when he realised they were no longer what she wanted. That he would make himself vulnerable, without verbal warfare. In short...

...that he would _behave._

He was reaching her ribs now, swiftly moving down to her belly, and it quivered under his tongue, ticklish. She arched her back, leaning back on her hands and pushing her hips forward. She had to admit, the height of the piano was useful... Prussia's teeth were playfully closing on any spare inch of flesh about her midsection, and she squirmed, sucking in her stomach to get away from them. He never could shut up about her _softness,_ even when he wasn't speaking.

A nudge of her foot reminded him of his downward trajectory, and at last he looked up, now that he took black satin and violet lace between his teeth.

What a view.

An expanse of supple skin, flushed like a ripe peach, curving gently back and disturbed only by the dip of her navel; the flare of her hips gave way to a waist that was either the product of centuries of corsets, or simply nature having a sense of propriety. From Prussia's privileged vantage point, her breasts were gentle curves up to fine points, half-hidden by the spill of her hair. Further still, and he saw the smile that stretched full lips, and the sole imperfection he had ever noticed on her skin, the mole, that merely _perfected_ everything else.

What a view.

White teeth, the canines a little too canine, tugging at her underwear, threatening to remove it. Skin nearly as white, sculpted over high cheekbones, where the blood had rushed to the surface; the colour brought out his eyes, the eerie effect of red and blue framed by white lashes distinctly beautiful to her. Soft shades and somehow stark, incredibly so next to her choice of clothing, next to her. Austria could have stared into his eyes for days, puzzling over his expression, oddly pure and pious. Was he worshipping at an altar, somewhere in that impenetrable mind?

The spell was broken with a grin, and those teeth suddenly biting at her through her panties, his tongue soaking them through more than she already had.

Austria's laughter, unsteady and surprised, echoed slightly throughout the music room, and she bit her lip; Prussia had lifted her legs up, holding her thighs now as her feet dangled over his shoulders. The feel of his tongue pressing into her through the fabric made her pull her hips back, away from the tickling, teasing sensation and the dampness, but then she was left craving more contact, not knowing which way to squirm. She covered her face with her hands, peeking out; he was still making lewd faces at her, knowing she wouldn't chastise him. Curse him. She had half a mind to snap at him, order him to get on with it, but she settled for lying back and sprawling out on the piano lid, enjoying her torment.

At least, for a moment or two. Suddenly the pressure disappeared, the warmth of his body leaving her entirely, and she looked up-

-and then shrieked, as she was spun around in a half-circle by her ankles, sliding easily on the polished wood until her legs hung over the keys.

He was sitting on the bench now, tugging his boots off and tossing them aside, unbuttoning his jeans. He couldn't be serious.

"You are _not_ climbing up here, you imbecile- "

"Just on the bench!" he laughed, shoving his jeans down and off, clambering up on his knees now. "I need to be comfortable to do my best work, right? Is this velvet? Pretty swanky..."

His snickering made her scowl, but she held her tongue, watching what he was doing. He got his balance, and then reached up for her. She was not the sort of person the phrase 'once bitten, twice shy' really meant anything to.

"C-careful!" she found herself yelping, as he pulled her legs towards him, making her slide dangerously close to the lid's edge. From here, her toes could reach the keys if she'd wanted. But Prussia was directing them over his shoulders again, his own balance slightly dubious as he reached up to pull her underwear down and off.

"I'm always careful," he lied, as he maneuvered her panties off and flung them somewhere. Only now did her nudity occur to her, and her hands fidgeted at her sides, as she waited for him to stop eyeing her like a hungry wolf. She flopped back down against the wood, with a disgruntled sigh.

"Get on with it."

They both wobbled as he saluted. "Yes, _ma'am."_

As Austria gazed up at the high ceiling, watching the cool shadows move, she had to admit to herself a level of _trust._ One wrong move, as he moved her legs around, kissing her feet through her stockings, and she'd end up landing painfully on the keys, or else on him. _Someone_ would be in pain, either way. But she relaxed, stretching her arms up above her head and feeling her breasts move slightly, letting him contort her so he could mouth his way up her legs. There would be hell to pay if her stockings tore, so he was gentle, supporting her thighs with his hands and squeezing them. She maintained that he had a strange obsession with her natural padding. She was soft where he was not. Perhaps it was entertaining to him.

He had reached the tops of her stockings, bare skin finally yielding under his teeth and lips, light marks blooming in their wake. She began to squirm, and felt his hands cup her ass, not tightly, but reassuring all the same. She could feel his breath now, a contrast to the cool air sweeping in from the darkening windows. Hot and heavy, setting her skin prickling, a throb of anticipation beginning between her legs. She waited, eyes closed.

Unusually, he didn't hesitate. Prussia delighted in making her wait, making her ask, making her whine and reprimand. But now and then, he simply gave her what she wanted, because it coincided neatly with what he wanted. And what he wanted, frankly, was to taste her and feel her under his tongue, to hear her in her pleasure. He enjoyed it because it was intimate, overwhelmingly so, to kiss her there and see how it made her move. She could hide neither her body nor the things she was feeling, and it was such a sharp contrast to how he saw her among other people that he wanted to see it, again and again, never tiring.

And it fed his ego, too. Among other things. He had a hand in his boxers now- a little risky, perhaps, but where would the fun be without risk? His shoulders propped her up as his tongue slipped between her lips, parting and moistening, gently massaging; the tang of her hit the tip of his tongue, and he moved it around, querying, exploring. It was always a little strange, neither pleasant nor unpleasant, but it was her. Dimly, he wondered if it was his taste that made him a rare recipient of her returned favours, or merely the fact that he was always too eager to get inside her to wait for it. ...He would refrain from asking.

Again, he felt her feet against his back, and he chuckled, knowing it tickled her. She was not a patient woman- except, it seemed to him, for the most inane things, like... _art-_ and it provided endless amusement for him, even as he gave in, his mouth pressed to her now and his tongue working more firmly, with purpose. Now and then he glanced up along the smooth planes of her body to see her breathe and twitch, taking her cues, probing and prodding at those areas that drew her sighs and sinuous movements. Not long now...not long, and she would-

"Ah- hahh- " she breathed, and it was no longer silent, her hands gripping the edge of the piano lid behind her head, her legs moving indecisively as if she didn't know where to put them. She was reaching a heightened state of pleasure now, beyond the simply warm, wet feelings of foreplay, to a feeling that said: that's the right spot. It also said: keep going, and don't dare stop. It was a little unpredictable, but Prussia was learning to notice these things, the little quaver in her voice that told him he was doing something _right._

He liked that feeling. He felt himself grow a little harder, a little tighter, as he caught his breath for a split-second before delving in again, sucking hard. Austria's leg slipped from his shoulder, and her toes hit the keys- F#, she knew, though Prussia hardly heard it under the moan she let slip at the same time. He did his best to hold her steady, even giving up on stroking himself to do so, fully concentrating on taking as much of her in as he could and working her over until his tongue ached.

She was moving too much now, her self-control just a joke in the face of persistent pleasure- and she had never met anyone quite as persistent as Prussia. Her fingers were gaining ridges from gripping the wood, and she pulled herself back a short way, unconsciously, somewhat overwhelmed; her legs shook, her back a bass clef as it arched up from the clammy surface beneath her. Prussia followed her, his hands pinning her hips, his mouth moving over her more delicately, his tongue merely flickering over her clit, and she almost laughed when she moaned again. Still she squirmed out of his reach, until a sudden, _loud_ clash of notes sounded, and her head shot up.

_"Gilbert!"_

He had clambered up to reach her, one knee grinding into the keys; he did not even appear to be listening, though his eyes flickered to hers in a way she found rather _too_ innocent to be believed. She struggled for a moment, but she fell back within seconds, the potential damage to her instrument pushed aside by the wickedness of his tongue. A low groan left her at the thought that _sex,_ the basest of pleasures, was more important to her than her one great passion- but soon that was gone too, her hips bucking, skin damp, feet distantly slipping to the keyboard again-

Outside, a bird shot out of a tree as beautifully held note rang out of the open window, rising in volume as a pale figure writhed atop the piano, until finally it subsided with nothing more than a pleasant sigh. The sign reading _Privatgrundstück, Betreten verboten_ was a useful thing indeed.

Prussia was panting, finally drawing back enough to lick his lips dry, resting his cheek against a sweat-streaked thigh. All he could smell was her, her skin, her perfume, making his head spin; the early evening air began to cut through it, and he felt as though he had been underwater as he breathed it in. He was enjoying himself immensely. It was satisfying in a way that didn't satisfy him, leaving him eager for more. But he could wait, even as his hand returned to his cock.

"I think I heard a window crack, princess."

"Be quiet."

Her voice came muffled, her hands over her face. If Prussia's head was spinning, Austria's was pounding, her pulse rushing through every part of her. Even now she was still shuddering, the near-nonexistent muscles in her stomach clenching and making her hips twitch.

"The neighbours are prob'ly sitting on the porch listening to your _solo,_ Miss Soprano," Prussia snickered, and he amused himself plucking at the tops of her stockings until she was ready to pay attention to him again. He was an incredibly generous, giving, patient person, if he did say so himself (and he did, often)...but he had needs, after all.

Eventually Austria dragged herself up to a sitting position, wincing at the aches she had not noticed up to that point. She blinked down at herself, and then at her companion, hazily admiring the fluffy lightness of his hair, the fine arch of his back as he knelt on the...

"Gilbert..."

"Mm?" His fingers traced circles on her hips, his weight shifting and making a tiny sound emanate from the piano.

Oh, dear.

Her foot almost connected with his face, but he was too quick for her, grasping her around the waist and lifting her, laughing, to fall back to the bench with him; somehow, miraculously, he landed sitting, and no one broke any bones, but it was a near thing. He held her tightly against his body, her legs wrapped around him in fear, and buried his laughing head in her neck as her hands slapped inconsequentially at his shoulders.

"You- complete- moron- you have no regard for my things, you philistine," she hissed in his ear, and the sound was music to him, making him rock in place with mirth and squeeze her tight. "Don't just _laugh!_ This was foolish from the outset!"

"But you liked it," he murmured, and then he pulled her from him, holding her at a distance so he could see her face and grin at it. "Turns you on, hah?"

"What?"

"This thing." His foot nudged the piano's leg, and he pulled her hips flush against his, his hardness pressing against her through a thin veneer of fabric, grinding up against still sensitive flesh. "I always thought so."

Austria looked down her nose at him. "Do not make vulgar remarks to me when I can feel the evidence of your own perversions."

She punctuated it with a squeeze of her thighs, and Prussia groaned, his hands kneading her ass none too gently. "The fuck's perverted about watching a stuck-up beauty lose her cool and moan like a- "

This time her blow did connect, her fingers thudding against his jaw just hard enough to make a sound and leave a sting; they lingered there to grasp his chin and force it up. Dark, finely arched eyebrows approached her hairline, the pause before she spoke very dangerous.

"Like a...?"

Prussia swallowed, and smiled hopefully. "Like a lady who knows what she likes?"

"An imaginative euphemism," Austria opined, and Prussia snorted, biting at her fingers as they left his face to settle in his hair. "However, the person of loose morals here is clearly you. You drive me to this impropriety."

"For that, I'll gladly accept the blame," came the reply, as his hands roamed her back, drawing her down to him, cutting the conversation short in favour of a kiss. She wrapped her arms around his neck, pushing her tongue into his mouth, tasting herself and cigarette smoke and not caring; his body was warm and solid against hers, the clean scent of his skin somehow reaching her despite its subtlety. Slowly her hands mimicked his, feeling shifting muscle as they trailed downwards, and beneath it, the beat of his heart in every vein.

As they explored one another, she grew bolder, arousal growing again; her hips ground down against his more steadily now, a pleasant pressure for them both. Each time her mouth left his for air she dragged her lips to his jaw and throat, to work her way back up. He seemed content to let her have her way, his hands playing with her breasts or squeezing her ass, rather lazily, she thought. It spurred her on to enjoy herself with him, to touch him all over, her fingers raking down his chest and feeling his abdominal muscles tighten. She was so consumed that a pinch to her nipple made her jump, eyes opening to stare into his. She held that stare as she returned the favour, lips pressed to his as her fingers pulled and tweaked. He broke away first, laughing in a way that made her smile, sincere and slightly embarrassed.

"Alright, Jesus, I won't pinch..."

"You may," Austria replied mildly, her fingers merely stroking and rolling now, curious. He seemed to be blushing. "But do not do to me what you would not like done to you."

Prussia blinked at her. It wasn't a bad sensation, quite the opposite, he had no objection, but- what was she suggesting... There was a certain tone of voice he'd come to recognise.

"So are you gonna-"

"Stand up."

It took perhaps twenty seconds for him to fully process her probable intentions, gently extricate himself from her and get to his feet, and set her safely on the bench in his place. He was almost bouncing on the balls of his feet, leaning back against the piano and wondering if he should take his boxers off, or if she would, or-

"You seem excited."

"Just noticing?"

Austria rolled her eyes, shaking back her hair and running a hand through it, pushing her fringe out of her face. She had no particular qualms about this act, as...undignified as it could be. It was the vulgar things he tended to _say,_ in the heat of the moment, that made her deny him.

"I want silence," she warned him, and he saluted again, standing up straight, but his face was a picture of boyish glee. She would see how long he lasted, and deal with him if he failed, in any case. Slowly, her fingertips trailed down the jut of his hips, catching in his underwear and pulling it down.

He was a pleasing enough sight, if you like that sort of thing. Not overlarge, nor small, perhaps as aesthetically tolerable as it was possible for such things to be, to Austria. But what she liked was how he reacted when her slender fingers wrapped around him, squeezing gently, slowly moving from base to tip. He was a trained soldier, not just in profession but deep in his mind, and when she'd ordered silence, he had taken it to heart; the way his jaw set and his hands tensed was quite gratifying.

Now that she had him at her mercy, Austria let herself experiment. The soft pads of her fingers moved up and down his shaft, gently massaging at the base and caressing the tip, her eyes looking to his to see how it affected him. To his credit, he met her gaze, making no attempt at hiding his interest. He was a shameless one, after all.

She, however, was not, and she lowered her eyes as she leaned forward, hesitating before her tongue and lips met the very tip of his cock. A tiny movement of his hips was her reward, and it pleased her enough to sweep her tongue over and around the head, before allowing it into her mouth.

Now she looked up, cherry lips pursed around her mouthful. _Now_ he looked away. She would have smiled if it wouldn't have set her teeth biting into him. (She had _some_ mercy in her.)

Austria considered the rapid bobbing of one's head to be utterly distasteful, necessitating a slow pace, but Prussia could hardly complain; as she braced her hand on his hip, the other stroking him as she took him further into her mouth, he found himself really _wondering_ about her impressive collection of woodwind instruments. Her lovely hands were undoubtedly the product of hundreds of years of finger exercises, but where a lady like her had gotten a mouth like that, he really did not know. He knew all about her favoured political strategies _(all_ about them), but really- the way her tongue curled just there, and the pressure as she began to suck- it took everything not to melt back against the piano and urge her to swallow him. All he wanted was to be enveloped by her, to let her do whatever she wanted with him as long as she didn't stop. He wanted to stroke her hair and murmur encouragement, but he knew better than to risk it while she had him by the balls. He had a tendency to grip a little tightly, and thus, so had she.

Her tongue was flat against the underside of his cock, her curls dangling as her head slowly moved back and forth, tightening her lips around him in a way that made him grimace in an effort not to say something. He was obsessed with her lips, the full, soft sweetness of them as they kissed his forehead or pressed against his. The way they reddened naturally with pressure, wetly sliding further along his shaft, until he felt the back of her throat, biting back a curse. She paused, her eyes half-hidden by her long lashes but clearly watching him; her withdrawal was sudden, and the more pleasurable for it, her lips releasing him with a swirl of her tongue.

"You are very quiet," she eventually said, after she'd licked her lips even redder. Her hand was closed around the tip of his cock now, moving rather faster than her mouth had. She sounded as though she was commenting on the weather, but she seemed pleased. Prussia made an exasperated noise in his throat, and it almost disguised his moan.

"You told me to, Christ," he managed, and now that he felt she was allowing it, he bucked his hips, leaning against the wood behind him. "This is what gets you off? You're ten times the freak I am, hah. Some lady."

"Be polite, Gilbert."

"Yes, _Lieselotte."_

"Would you like me to continue?"

" _Yes,_ Lieselotte-"

Her name rolled off his tongue as she put hers back to use, closing her eyes and delicately mouthing at him in a way he couldn't quite believe; it should not have been possible to be so demure. Especially not as, he couldn't help but notice, she slipped a free hand between her legs to toy with herself, her fingers mesmerising to him. The thought occurred to him that she would be wanting his attention again soon, and that he probably shouldn't let her do- _that-_ flexing her tongue against him as her cheeks hollowed and her thumb stroked at the base, fingers twisting this way and that as they moved-

"L-Lottie-" A sharp jerk of his hips pushed him further into her mouth, and he winced as she looked up in surprise. "Sorry-"

Austria merely bowed her head, drawing him further in, until he could tell what she was doing and gave up completely, threading his fingers into her hair. "Fuck, fuck- you're gonna make me-"

It was a useless protest as he pressed into her mouth, gripping the piano's lid until his knuckles turned whiter, shaking slightly as she swallowed and held him there. Obscene. She was completely, utterly- that kind of _primness_ should have been outlawed-

And after a long moment of exquisite revenge, she pulled away, her cheeks flushed and breath heavy. He had not, in fact, been pushed over the edge, and he still seemed capable of standing upright. Good. She sat back on the bench, looking up at him and pressing her toes against his ankles.

"Are you still capable of-"

"Yeah," Prussia panted, running his hand through his hair and dragging himself upright. He had his pride- an _excess_ of it, from a certain point of view- and he wasn't about to be reduced to a quivering mess, whatever tricks she pulled out. He wasn't about to disappoint her, either. He didn't like to examine the little knot of feelings that made him unwilling to let her down, or the ones that made him need to be close to her when he finished and make love instead of just doing it and- it was pride fucking with him, right? "Yeah, c'mere."

Austria was kind enough not to comment on the state of him, getting to her feet. In doing so, she found herself stepping on his discarded boots, and while he edged around her to return to his seat, she curiously slipped her foot into one. The amount of room left was comical, and a snort made her look up.

"Stealing my look? Careful, I'll borrow your pigeon slippers and wear 'em all around Vienna."

On went the other one, and she modelled them rather well. Being beautiful and naked but for a pair of stockings may have helped. Prussia rested his elbows on his knees, and his chin in his hands, watching her with a soft smile. "Heh, maybe princess suits the military look better than I thought."

"Yes, I am sure you would have preferred me to fight my battles dressed like this," Austria replied, nudging his arms with her knees to get them to move, then taking his hands, climbing into his lap once more. He welcomed her, playing with her fingers, leaning up for a shy kiss. Neither confirming nor denying that accusation, but pondering the image.

Her legs swung gently behind him, her nose pressing against his for a brief moment of eye contact, and he held his breath; then she was bracing her hands on the bench, rising just enough to shift her hips around, letting him guide himself to her and slide in, exhaling as he filled her. Holding her, adjusting, wondering if he really could last, nervous suddenly. He ran his tongue over his dry lips, and after a false start, he managed a wisecrack to make himself feel better.

"One shot of inspiration, _coming_ right up!"

 _"Ugh."_ Austria's eyes rolled magnificently, but it did remind her of the supposed purpose of all this. Inspiration? More like a distraction. "If I am inspired to write _anything_ after this, I will dedicate it to you."

Prussia grinned, wide and _happy,_ and he bounced her in his lap, chuckling at her little moan. "If the princess wants to make the most of one hundred percent, pure, distilled inspiration-" another bounce, to drive the point home- "-she should compose it right now!"

Growing impatient, Austria made a face at him, rocking her hips slightly to get him to move her again. "You expect me to hold a pen?"

"Just play it," he shrugged. He nodded towards the keys, starting to move her in earnest now, pulling her hips towards him and shifting around beneath her. She glanced back over her shoulder. Playing blind, backwards and while being... _inspired?_

It would be a first.

It would be definitive proof of her skill. And humble she was not.

"You had better hold me steady. ...As much as possible."

"Yes ma'am..."

It revealed a lot about her, that she rose to such a challenge, a chance to show off when, according to her, Prussia was no one worth expending that sort of effort on. The first note coincided with the first thrust, and she groaned in frustration, the position going against everything her professionalism dictated. But more importantly, it combined two passions of hers...and it felt undeniably good. Perhaps she was slightly overly-attached to her instrument.

Prussia watched her face, absorbing the details, her concentration and the fleeting glimpses of pleasure that disturbed it; he was rolling his hips, his hands firm on hers, and she was learning to time her playing with this strange metronome. A thrust, a beat, and a scattering of notes, unsteady, but clearly ringing out. Dissonant but oddly joyful, lightness spilling into triumphant loudness. Prussia was not a musical man, he didn't quite understand the process, her talent far beyond him, but he could hear the way she wove the melody around their movements, somehow. He was in awe, privately, burying his face against her neck to kiss it and murmur something, not that she was listening. Now he moved slowly, deliberately, listening to her heart beat to the music and supporting the graceful arch of her back. He wanted to hear more of her song, but he could feel his arousal steadily growing with each thrust, the warmth and pressure of her utterly natural, comfortable, doing more for him now than any amount of surprisingly eager oral. (Not that he didn't want _that...)_

She seemed to be flagging now, the position taking a toll on her wrists, her teeth clamping down on her lip as his stirring inside her teased some delicate spot; she pushed down against him suddenly, urging him to move faster, to hit it again. When he complied she let a cry fall from her lips, and the same note followed on the piano, her fingers straining to move faster in turn. She could hardly decide what she wanted more- to come or to reach the climax of her song- but it was rapidly becoming apparent that her hands were shaking too much to be accurate, a missed note here and there collapsing into constant missteps as Prussia bodily enveloped her, moving all of her as he moved in her.

One hand made a titanic effort still, slipping and clutching at the keyboard, but the other wound in his hair, needing to anchor herself to him as her legs began to quake. She had drowned out her own playing with her cries, coming out in staccato gasps that brought sobs to mind, and Prussia lifted his head suddenly to make sure that they _weren't._

"Are you-"

_"Yes!"_

He dragged her wrist away from the keys, clutching her to him, pulling her mouth down to his and running his hands through her hair. He was close to coming, but his _pride_ would never forgive him if he couldn't let her ride this out, and he was fascinated by her reactions; he pulled back enough to watch her face, her parted lips and tightly shut eyes, the way she threw back her head. He didn't know what to think- was she just that much more sensitive...there, or was she really, truly some kind of audiophile-

Her hand slammed on the keyboard, not playing anything but merely wanting to grip it- the noise was just a side-effect, one she seemed to enjoy as she hooked the heels of Prussia's boots on the back edge of the bench, leverage to move faster, harder, demanding more of him, and he gave her what he could, almost rising from his seat. She looked almost pained, and she was impossibly wet, achingly tight, surreally beautiful as she climaxed, the look of shock and unbridled hunger so very unlike her. It was enough to send him over the edge just to watch, but the tensing, convulsing feeling deep within her had already gotten to him, and he leaned forward to grasp the keys himself, groaning her name, letting it roll from his tongue until he felt as though he had spilled every last drop of everything he had.

Sex with her was exhausting. Surprisingly so.

Austria was squirming again, in discomfort this time. Her back was pressed against the piano, and she was at too awkward an angle to pull herself up. She was too sensitive to still have anything inside her, as well, and she made it known with a thud of Prussia's own boot against his back. With a grunt, he pulled her up and off, gently bringing both of her legs back in front of him until he could cradle her in his lap, sprawled out more comfortably. He was not especially comfortable, but that hardly mattered.

In time, when he had kissed her hands better, and she found the strength in her legs to move, he was able to stretch his discomfort out; not at all concerned about his nakedness, he nevertheless pulled his boxers back on for the lady's sake. Then she raised the point that she was cold, so high windows had to be closed with the assistance of a step-ladder (and once again, the lack of trespassers was a thing to be thankful for), and his shirt was eventually found for her. She decided he had made a better seat than the bench itself, and so...there he was.

She curled up in his arms and his shirt, dangling his heavy boots as she tapped a pen against her chin and occasionally made notes on a leaf of paper; he reached around her to tinker with the piano himself, awkward and untalented, but skilled enough through repetition to make up some amateurish tune. She seemed to enjoy it, in her way. When his foot moved for the pedal, she caught a flash of white, and-

"Are you wearing my slippers?"

"Ehh, they're just pigeons I found lying around."

"You grow more idiotic by the day," Austria murmured, and she reached up to kiss his cheek, her pen scratching his simple leitmotif into her composition.

Prussia received an invitation to that weekend's concert, what Austria called a _select gathering,_ and what turned out to be half of Vienna's musical elite. He helped himself to champagne and found a wall to lean against, too awkward and too _cool_ for mingling. And when she played, she closed her eyes and threw back her head, shifting in her seat in some kind of rapture, and he wondered if the polite audience really _realised_ what she was showing them.

Probably, he decided. _Musicians._


End file.
